A Mountain's Cold Heart

The first thing he realized was the pain in his head.
“…Aaaaaagh…blast…” He muttered, reaching up a hand blindly to feel his head, which felt as though it was burning inwardly. As the world seemed to come back into focus again and he opened his eyes, however, slowly everything came back, piece by piece. The whole bizarre nightmare of it.
At first he was half afraid he had gone blind or some such horror when he opened his eyes and nothing happened, and the darkness remained. Slowly, though, his eyes adjusted, and rather than the total darkness, the dim light showed Gaeljwen where he now was. Bruised, bloody, and still alive.
He was sitting against the very cold wall of what appeared to be prison cell, lit only by a single torch in the wall nearby, a room that was barely big enough to hold a horse. Gaeljwen straightened up a little, in a rather odd position in the far corner as though he had just been roughly tossed in and the door shut, and took a better look around. Blinking and still rubbing his head, grimacing at the fireworks that seemed to still play dimly through his brain, he made a discovery.
The entire cell was built of solid ice. In fact, it didn’t even look ‘built,’ technically…perhaps cut out of solid ice, or even just some kind of small ice cave that a door had been fitted on. A few icicles hung from the ceiling, but other than that the room was without any decoration or adornment. And very cold. Extremely cold.
Gaeljwen’s teeth began to chatter as he pulled his cloak a little closer about him. “Ach, God protect me.” He begged fervently, and felt for his own things. Except for his weapons, strangely enough, he seemed to have everything on him…but naturally his sword, axe, and shield were gone, and the knife in his left boot was also missing. He bit his tongue in frustration, grumbling. As he fumbled in his pockets however, further, he found his few gold pieces, cooking herbs, and other odds and ends. His pack and supplies, including food, was also gone.
Realizing further that he was very hungry, he wondered how long he had been there…
…And how long before they come to get me? If at all? That’s a thought.
It wasn’t till about then the memory of his friends, and Diana, suddenly nailed his memory like a ton of bricks slammed against him, and if he wasn’t fully awake before, he was then.
He quickly scrambled to his feet and stumbled to the door. A few shots of pain ran through his arms and torso, reminding him sharply that his few wounds were still there, but the angry young recruit didn’t heed their warnings.
“WHERE IS SHE?!” He screamed at the door, hearing his own voice resound in his ears like thunder until he had to sit down and cover them. If anyone on the far side of the prison cell door heard him, they didn’t make a move to open it.
With a few more nasty insults and black remarks aimed at snow elves, elves in general, and particularly himself, Gaeljwen slumped back against the wall in despair, gritting his teeth and fighting back tears that tried to leak out of his eyes.
How did the world, inside of a few weeks, suddenly go so incredibly and strangely wrong? In every single way?! …What did I do to deserve this?!
The last question, which he dared to mouth, struck him again. And again. Did he really want to know the answer to that?

How long it was, he wasn’t sure, but eventually there was a sound outside the door. Perhaps some hours, but whatever the case, after some time the sound of footsteps in a passage made him prick his ears and come out of his dark musings from his corner in the cell. Though the boy looked up at the door from his sprawled position, he didn’t move anything else but stared a black, cold stare at the wooden frame.
At length, there was some quiet, vague voices outside the door, and eventually it opened, shedding light into the room. Gaeljwen blinked. He looked up slightly.
After a moment, striding in through the light (which wasn’t that bright, but being in such a dim cell made it bright to the imprisoned boy), came three forms. Three figures of persons made their way in through the door, and as soon as they were all inside, closed it behind them, quickly becoming fully visible to the human boy. He had to suppress something like a growl.
Three snow elves, Norns, stood before him and looked down with cold, expressionless, pale white faces, studying him with their jet black eyes that stood out so vividly. The boy set his dark brown gaze determinedly on theirs, though inwardly he shivered. They seemed so…inhuman. Something he couldn’t quite wrap his mind around. Though every one of them was dressed in the same bright white cloak and robe, that seemed light and easy enough to be a very long tunic, the Norn in the middle stood a little taller than the others, and stood in front of the two.
There was a small silence before the Norn spoke. The human and Norns continued watching each other very intensely.
“You, boy.” The forward Norn spoke at length, his voice halting and careful. “Why were you at the castle which was destroyed?” Gaeljwen raised an eyebrow. This Norn spoke in a voice that sounded as though he were unused to or very limited in the human’s language.
“That is my affair.” The boy growled.
This seemed to take a moment for the Norns to process, though Gaeljwen doubted it was because they were slow. The chill in the air deepened.
Then, without warning, the two Norns on either side of the speaker suddenly stepped forward, and made a grab for the boy. Gaeljwen was roughly hauled up to his feet, standing some inches over his captors…but still very aware of the tight, freezing, iron grip they had.
Suddenly, with a cry, he was flung back against the ice wall and pinned there, with a Norn on each arm. They weren’t gentle.
“Why were you there, mortal boy?” The speaker questioned again in the same expressionless, black tone.
How did one understand these beings?
“That…is my own…affair.” He replied again, chancing his luck.
His luck died out. This time, the two Norns on either side both suddenly increased their grip on his arms, and suddenly twisted, bringing the boy’s strong limbs down into a agonizing position. He grunted and felt them as though they had suddenly set on fire. Even then…their grip was too strong to even dare try moving.
“Why were you at the castle grave, boy?” The relentless questioner didn’t even flinch or move throughout the entire torment, but asked his same question in the exact same expressionless tone.
“I…was…scouting! Looking with my commander!” Cursing himself inwardly for giving in so easily and unable to withstand the agony anymore as they continually twisted his arms further, he blurted what information he dared. “We were looking for clues! That was all…GET OFF ME!”
With a sudden push, Gaeljwen grit his teeth and quickly shoved with all his might, ramming into the Norn captor on his right in a desperate attempt to free himself.
That was a large mistake. The Norn flinched and gave up a step, but the boy was very surprised to find he didn’t fly into the wall…and Gaeljwen was not a small, weak boy by any means. The iron grip gave a little, but was instantly renewed, and this time, the black eyes snapped up with a dark, cold fire in them. This made Gaeljwen nearly flinch.
That was yet another mistake. Within seconds, he was flung back against the wall, pinned, and this time, the grip was much harder. He suppressed a shout of pained rage.
“Do not do that again, human boy.” The Norn before him folded his arms over his slender, lithe chest, not even moving his black gaze. “That will cost you dearly if you do.” He paused a moment.
“Give me the names of your friends. All of them. Starting with the Amaras warriors.”
This took the boy by surprise, and he thought a moment. Why did they want to know that? What game were they playing?
He didn’t have much time to think about it. The grip slowly began to twist again, on both sides.
“Agh…” The reply was pained, “…Suppose you tell me…where my friends are? Then I might…”
This time, the speaking Norn suddenly flicked a gesture with a finger towards the guards on either side, a minor, fluid gesture.
Gaeljwen felt the grip loosen for a split second, tighten again, and then nearly did a flip through the air and landed painfully hard upon the ice floor on his stomach, gasping for the wind that was knocked cleanly out of him. As he gaped and struggled for air like a fish, the Norn went on, unmoved in any way.
“You will tell me exactly what I ask, without price, without hesitation, and the truth completely.” His words seem far away at first, as the boy’s spinning vision came back. “For your own good and the good of your friends. Each one of them is going to be asked the same questions, word for word.”
Pausing for a moment, he waited until Gaeljwen’s wrathful, dark gaze was on him again. He looked like a caged wild animal.
“Therefore if any one of them tells a story other than the one you tell me, and gives names different from any names you give me, I will drag you out and have you witness that person’s execution. Immediately.” Letting this sink in for a few seconds, the Norn went on with his painfully emotionless questioning.
“Again – give me their names, starting with the elder Amaras. Now.”
There was a painfully long second of silence, until the boy answered. His mind spinning, he dared not gamble this time. Not with the lives of his friends.
“…Asa.” He spat, like a foul taste, in the direction of the questioner. “The Amaras warrior is Asa. The girl…is…” This one took longer. The Norn began to move his hand again, as if motioning his helpers to do something else.
“…Diana.”
Curse you, curse you wretch! Screaming far worse names inwardly at himself, the boy went on, gritting his teeth in sheer hatred of these snow elves, their icy prison, and particularly himself.
“The elder soldier. Fraeduin. The younger…Jyonahal.” With this, the boy hung his head, a hot tear of sheer rage and shame suddenly forming. His mind, already lost in a snarling storm of wrath and hot fear and shame at his surrender, made him quiver a little. The snow elves, as if feeling it also, tightened their grip.
“What were the Amaras doing there?”
To this, Gaeljwen thought. “I don’t know. They didn’t tell us much.” He paused, looking up, resisting the temptation to spit at the Norn. “I have known them for very little. Just a few hours.”
Hanging his head again, he didn’t see the looks the three prison guards exchanged with one another, or the guesses hidden behind each pale face. After a moment, Gaeljwen was surprised. They dropped him, leaving him feeling like a loose sack of meal left on the floor as he fought for air and for something of his sanity.
“That is all for now. Well done, boy.” The Norn interrogator finished, suddenly turning on his heel and striding out with all the quietness of a cat. The other two black-eyed elves quickly followed suit, and the young Savarica recruit heard the door softly, but firmly, shut behind him again. Again he was left in the dim icy cell, in the heart of the far mountain city.